bartholin cyst

My recent shocking revelation that this pregnancy is very suddenly about to come to an end seemed to coincide with my body revolting against me. I believe it’s nature’s way of making me quickly come to terms with having an outside baby and fully embracing the idea because GET IT OUT.

I hesitate to blog this (and then publish it) because, you guys, I will KILL the first person to tell me to “relax and enjoy this time.” KILL YOU WITH MY INTERNET DAGARS. STAB, STAB, STAB. Pregnant rage- do not fuck with it.

Do I want the baby to come right now? NO. Because no childcare for Kendall and Leyna until Sunday. But then? OH WHAT THE HELL, JUST GET OUT, WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT.

Let’s see… where to start? Let’s start with the not sleeping thing. Because I just LOVE how people tell pregnant women at the end to enjoy the sleep they can get now before baby comes out and keeps you from sleeping. HEY GUESS WHAT, ASSHOLES? Not sleeping. Not at all. Unless I employ the help of drugs (Tylenol PM), and then I can’t wake up for 4 days.

I’m guessing part of the reason I can’t sleep is good ol’ fashioned pregnancy insomnia. But then there’s also the other fun stuff thrown in, like the contractions in the middle of the night that leave me wondering if I should go ahead and grab that bag and ask the dogs to keep an eye on the sleeping kids so I can make it to the hospital on time.

And the itching. The itching that doesn’t stop. Nope, not PUPPPs (how many freaking Ps is there in that? I’m just taking a stab at 4). Nope, not ICP. Nope, not anything that makes a damn bit of sense (though I am VERY thankful I don’t actually have PUPPPs or ICP). JUST ANNOYING ITCHING IN RANDOM PLACES AT RANDOM TIMES. Mostly at times when I really want to sleep.

Oh, and the Restless Legs Syndrome, which is actually restless entire body syndrome. I used to laugh at commercials for RLS meds. Restless Legs… ha! What a silly sounding problem. I TAKE IT ALL BACK. THIS SHIT IS AWFUL. And it should properly be renamed Mother Fucking Asshole Body Keeps Twitching RIGHT BEFORE I FALL ASLEEP Syndrome. Doesn’t that sound like something NOT TO LAUGH AT?

Still low on iron, and not eating enough protein. Not all that shocking considering I still want to eat sand more than anything else on this earth. I’m doing my best with the iron supplements, I swear, but the eating is hard. It’s like first trimester all over again. Aversions and heartburn like whoa. I truly look forward to being like, what do I want to eat? EVERYTHING! And not having to wonder what this and that will do to my digestive system and how it will affect my heartburn.

Hmmm… what else… Oh! I guess now would be as good a time as any to tell you all I have some sort of cyst growing on my labia. ARE YOU DYING RIGHT NOW? Because I am. But wait, there’s more.

It’s nearly the size of a golf ball.

So, essentially, I have a testicle at this point.

And what’s going to happen to it? Well, a couple options were explained to me by a couple midwives. It could either just rupture while I’m pushing. An option that, I think, sounds worse for the person catching my baby and in the line of fire of all that horrific mess than me. I mean, everything burns and numbs down there in intervals anyway when all that is happening. Hopefully I won’t notice? Other than the geyser of bodily fluids that will no doubt shoot out of me when it happens.

The other possibility is it will just get really freaking huge. My last midwife said she saw one grow to the size of a orange while a mom was pushing. A LARGE CITRUS FRUIT. ON MY LABIA.

The plan is to do nothing right now. In fact, my current midwife doesn’t want to do anything with it until my 6 week postpartum check up because it’s possible it will go away on it’s own (even without rupturing) when the pregnancy is over.

However, if it becomes infected between now and then (because that happens frequently with these), or, I’m assuming, if it does grow to the size of a fruit and prevents me from, like, walking, we will come up with a plan sooner than that. A plan that will involve cutting and draining and such down there. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO DO AFTER RIPPING MY VAGINA IN HALF TO GIVE LIFE.

My midwife sweetly gave me a rice pack yesterday at my 39 week appointment. You know the kind, you heat it up or freeze it and use it to treat such ailments as sore shoulders, achey backs, and crotch pain. Yeah, I spent last night with a hot pack of rice on my crotch, unable to tell if the pain I’m feeling is from the baby cracking my pelvis in half or the pressure of the ever-growing testicle/cyst.

I’m just going to end this now because the pregnant rage is blinding me so much that I’m fully divulging details of my labia to the world, and I should probably stop before I further embarrass myself. Not that that’s even possible.

You want to tell me to relax and enjoy these last couple of weeks/days/whatever? COME AT ME. I WILL KILL YOU.

Edited to add: It is totally, 100% okay to laugh at this. Please know I am laughing- HARDYHARHAR- right with you. Because WHAT is my alternative? Killing people. And that’s…. just… not going to be fun for my kids to watch.